The Meta of Equality
by HowAboutThisForAName
Summary: A civil war within a civil war, a wiry and sly Breton Dragonborn holding together a force no larger than a hold's own forces and as many pacts with the various forgotten lords and foreign dignitaries as possible; That should go swimmingly.
1. The Tournament

The Meta of Equality.

Chapter One: The Tournament.

The Jarl of Falkreath had arranged a tournament, the usual past time of archery not lost on the young man, and so he had such a competition commissioned, sixty thousand septims going into the event and another ten thousand alongside a deed to land going to which ever person won.

This was the time of year which demanded such features, the warmth of the south and the sun of summer a lovely combination to boost the confidence and joy of the town of Falkreath and the hold as a whole. Young ladies would gossip and whisper about the competitors and the young Jarl, and of course a feast would be had in the longhouse at the end of the day, the various Thanes and officials invited enjoying the lavish dinner while the peasants and common man enjoyed a riotous night at the inn.

But of course the star of the show was the glib and cynical Balo, a Nord of uncanny description that represented the race in a way that many didn't see them for these days; truly a joy, even if he angered such people as Thanes and Jarls.

He was the impromptu leader of some nameless company of rangers to the east, acting as skirmishers and archers for hire, and had serviced the Jarls of southern Skyrim for well over five years. But of course nobody really cared too much at this point, instead watching Balo and the various men of the night train and prepare for the coming day.

It wouldn't just be archery of course, there would be duels and perhaps some jousting, but that was much more Whiterun's theme and joy, and the men of the extremely clustered forests of Falkreath found horses detestable for their lack of manoeuvrability. Between events jesters and bards would entertain the Jarl and his subjects, and every so often the correspondent would come up and give their respects to the young raven haired fellow.

Balo allowed his hood down for once[1], his wooden training sword held low, pointed towards the ground and with his other arm wide, as if to give him momentum and the ability to throw his weight about. Sword fighting required him to have his hood down, and while he was no novice in the art he did lack the same skill as some others, and required his skills to be sharpened before any such battle.

His opponent was the Wood Elf Trilli, a small man with wild hair and sun kissed skin, and one of his two young apprentices, the other learning leadership skills back home by looking after the fort and all those enclosed in its walls. Trilli rarely wore a hood despite being a ranger, and wore light robes to go with his lithe form, avoiding even the most basic of armour in the form of leather.

As of such, he was perfect for such fighting as that which happened between men of the wild, using the environment to their advantage and jumping about rather than the brutal block, swing, take a hit on the iron plates of regular soldiers, something that seemed reserved for the east and north of Skyrim.

The west and central Skyrim seemed far more reserved and sophisticated -likely due to the Imperial touch to Solitude and thus its culture- and so preferred such things as mock battles, jousting and knightly duels, which were considered 'more honourable' than the 'lowly' dodging and weaving associated with such holds as Falkreath and Riften, something that struck deeply.

With his own sword twisted so it pointed downwards and nearer his being, Trilli circled the man with some fancy footwork, ready to strike when the man was ready, even with the amount of delighted girls (Obviously overjoyed with seeing Balo's handsome -if bald- face) and boisterous men irking them on.

Trilli stepped in to strike upwards, cutting a great gash through the air but missing Balo by the hair of his neck as the man sidestepped and brought his sword towards the Elf's side, whom only stepped forward and turned to lock swords with him.

But they only stayed there for a moment, breaking apart and attempting to go at it again, instead passing by each other as Balo went for a low placed thrust and Trilli a high, spinning to knock swords rather brutally for men of their profession before Balo decided to take three swipes as he stepped towards the Elf, whom backed away with every strike.

He didn't look scared or intimidated however, instead having deflected each swing and fixing the Nord with a hard look. He spun the sword so that it was held backwards after one particular strike and brought the hilt towards Balo's chin, the man barely stepping back to evade the surprise attack and only catching his footing by driving the blade into the ground and pushing off of it, bringing it over his head to drive the Elf back and give him some space.

The men and the women on the side lines cheered either side on, the majority of men wishing Balo to show the true Nord within him and the girls mostly wanting his handsome sparring partner Trilli to win.

If only they knew.

The Nord rushed Trilli again, though this time with a guarded step, and scarcely ducked under a wide swing from the Elf before he was able to boost his own sword's pommel into the Elf's cut, in the same vein as the attack the Elf had failed to use against him.

The Elf was launched off his feet and half a metre away, Balo quickly rising to his feet from the position he'd tumbled into and onto his friend, smirking as he managed to overpower the lad, "I win." He stated in his gravelly voice, and got up from the ground, offering a hand as the people around them cheered.

"You'll win it for sure sir, I'm certain of it." The boy encouraged, and Balo chuckled as he ruffled his hair.

"Let's get a feel for the other contestants before we start making such bold statements." He rationalised, passing through the crowd and upping his hood once more, Trilli hot on his tail.

It took a good few minutes of walking along the bank before they came across the rest of the party, the tournament having been held on the edge of Lake Illinalta in a large clearing, and so the Jarl was not here yet, but many of the contestants and early risers were. It was about a two hour walk from Falkreath, but that didn't bother most people, they were used to trekking long distances, half the city's population was known for its hunting trips.

Most of the men practicing were Nords, Imperials and that sort you'd expect on the border of Cyrodiil, but still several others existed, with Wood Elves, Dark Elves and Bretons throughout the many competitors, surely enough to last the day, or so Balo imagined.

A distinctive fellow wore some leathers and a vibrant red hood[2], practicing his aim against a tree six metres away. He used a short bow, and was blatantly skilled with it, managing to land a mark with every shot and creating an even, vertical line up its trunk with the silver tipped arrows he used.

A Dunmer with a massive axe, heavily armoured save his bare arms and head, where the deadly visage of a skull was painted on his sharp features, and instead of the regular red of a normal Dark Elf's eyes, he had a deep, royal blue that put Balo on edge. The Elf trained with some random Nord off to the side of the clearing, and they were both watched over by a man in a dark greatcoat and cap, hiding his features aside the fact he leant on a cane.

Across the way and on the actual tournament field the ranger couldn't help but spy a Redguard in the most peculiar armour, something that looked like typical Nord armour but with brown and greens painted in or furred, and he wielded a bow designed in a similar sense; looking almost of wood[3].

"Well, looks like a healthy competition," Balo stated, rubbing his hands together, before jogging over to a barrel and jumping atop it, calling out to get everyone's attention, "Good morning ladies and gentlemen!"

The Nords and Imperials and whatnot mostly stopped to turn and watch him, wondering what spectacle this fellow might show, "Anyone up for a bit of a bet?" He called, and many people called back in response, mostly questioning what kind of gambling this would be, "On who will win what of course! What were you expecting that I pull a pack of cards out of mi'arse?!" He yelled back, and a laugh ran throughout the crowd, save the Dunmer and Redguard, but that didn't bother him.

And so he collectively housed a betting pool and had Trilli write it all down, the various names and bets placed all good fun, with plenty of jokes and temporary rivalries brewed and a rather joyous and fun tone placed over the members of the tournament, but this all confused Trilli, who had not expected his leader to do such things.

Once they were all done and finished, he relayed these thoughts as the man walked towards the stands, jumping up two at a time to get a better view of the lake, "Sir," He fumbled, struggling to keep up with his quirky commander, "Why did you insist on hosting the betting pool?"

Pulling the Elf the rest of the way up before placing his hands on his hips, Balo chuckled, before snatching the ledger Trilli had written it on, always keeping the notebook with him in case such things happened, "You can tell a lot about a man by the money he bets."

Most were regulars that he even knew quite a few of, having grown up in the region;

_Haimo Oledatter - 26 Sep._

_Edvin - 43 Sep._

_Hilmar Iron-Monger - 35 Sep._

_Lillur - 200 Sep._

'_Lillur, that must be the Redguard.'_ Balo thought, travelling down the list until he found another name of interest.

_Silvu Silver-Clan - 40 Sep._

_Corentin Omnes OBO Sedrich Greed - 455 Sep._

_Simmá - 27 Sep._

OBO stood for 'On Behalf Of', or so Trilli explained, and stated that the man in the coat had stepped forward and placed the highest bet of the pool, thinking his Dunmer friend a winner prospectively.

"We must look out for those two," He stated, pointing at the two one after the other, but from a distance it would just look like they were reviewing, "Is Gallows still about?" He asked, and was answered with a short, grunting sound.

Trilli jumped back, but Balo smiled, turning around to come face to face with the Breton he put so much faith in.

Gallows looked like any other thief, wearing dyed leather to help him blend in and a hood to hide his face, but he had a distinctive, ebony ear dagger at his shoulder, something he used to great efficiency in combat, and one of the few that Balo had ever seen.

"Yes sir?" He asked, standing straight and tall, he didn't have anything on his back to hinder him, and his hood was pulled slightly away from his eyes to allow him to share a respectful and honest stare with the commander of their nameless skirmishers.

"I need you to spy on somebody for me, Lillur, do not kill him, do not steal anything of his, I just need to know why he is so confident of his ability. I will spy on this 'Corentin' and his Elf, Trilli, I need you to observe… Red." He had to stare at the list for a moment, before looking up and motioning to the red hooded fellow in general. He had only bet fifty septims, but the way he carried himself was interesting, and a call for alarm with the skill he purported and proved to have if the pierced tree that now looked more a work of art then a target had anything to say about it.

"It shall be done." Gallows stated, nodding before literally disappearing from sight, the invisibility spell he used so often a thing that only Balo knew the origins of, instead allowing his men to think the man a demon of some kind, to add to their mystique.

Trilli just nodded and began trotting down the planks, walking off towards the red hooded fellow, likely to ask to observe, maybe ask him some questions. It would be innocent enough, especially considering Trilli's disposition as a young, bright eyed Wood Elf, whom were generally associated as being the cutest people of Tamriel, or so Balo had heard.

Thinking for a moment and placing the ledger in his satchel, the man would later thank the Gods he had remembered to proof the bag against water as he backed over the railing of the top steps and into the shallows of the lake, having stumbled a bit too far back in his thoughtful stupor.

When that was all well and done, he abandoned his hood, jacket and chainmail to his horse, which he had ridden there and had been tied up in an area that was full of carts and animals, alongside other such tools that would serve him no purpose, before ducking down into the brush and following the trail he'd seen Corentin and Greed pass down half an hour before.

Surprisingly, they were only about a mile away, and he only saw Corentin… And the feet of an Imperial soldier.

The legs twitched, and he heard a terrible squelching sound every few seconds, the coated individual seemed to be talking, and upon circling around the edge of the small clearing, he could hear slightly better, but a rock was still in the way of the Imperial soldier's upper body.

"I feel this Balo fellow is somewhat… Outlandish, perhaps he has some predisposition that I am not aware of," Corentin was saying, and this made the person he spoke of chuckle internally.

If only he knew.

There was no response, and so the man kept speaking, "I already realise he's attempting to size us up, see if you'll be a great danger, and as I bet the most I believe he thinks so. Good thing he's right as well."

The squelching stopped, and he instead heard a man clear his throat, "I'm not the best fighter in the world, Corentin." He admitted with a deep but gravelly voice, which was in contrast to Balo's own, also gravelly but rather tempered, and it sounded sarcastic even when he was not so.

"Aye, but you have a one up in the form of a secret attack no one will be expecting. They might think of you having an extra weapon, or a drug that makes you more powerful, but indeed what you do possess is much more powerful, no one will think to prepare for it." The Breton –as identifiable by his accent- replied reassuringly.

"You're too kind," The Elf replied, and Balo heard a rummage of armour as the man stood to his full height, reputably, "Let me just wash off, then we can get back to the tournament grounds."

"Shall we leave the body here?" Corentin asked, and Greed seemed to let out a half-laugh as the sounds of armour falling off became apparent.

"Burn it." Came the curt response, and the tell-tale sound of flames being conjured was all that produced after that, and then he watched from around the corner of his rock as the now half-naked Dunmer waded in the shallows, his briefs the last article of clothing on his form as he submerged it in the cool water.

Balo was distracted from watching the lean Elf by the sounds of fire being cast, and the smell of burning flesh, and he gulped, taking a step back from his rock.

"Hmm?" He heard Corentin wonder, and internally berated himself for such stupidity.

Running away and back towards the tournament ground, he made sure to stay in the brush as he fled, sure that he wasn't spotted, and only hearing Corentin's yell of alarm for a moment as he sprinted so quickly.

He skidded into the large clearing that held the stands and ring and immediately fell into a rather bored looking step, having not been noticed and allowing him the chance to just walk over to Trilli rather than look a panicked maniac

Said Elf was currently in discussion with 'Red', the man having leant against the tree he'd been shooting to chat with the Elf, who looked much immersed in the conversation, "-So to take it I had a replica made, neither side lost anything in the end, just a pot. But it felt good to make both groups happy."

Trilli awed at the comment sheepishly, and Balo rolled his eyes as he cleared his throat, "Apologies good sir, but I'm afraid I have to speak with my dear friend here." He greeted, giving a short bow before the two.

"Ah… Yes sir!" Trilli stuttered, snapping out of his stupor and jumping to his feet, Red just nodded with a warm smile, and Balo was thankful for that.

When they were a good distance away, Balo let the panic rise somewhat as he half whispered half yelled "Cannibal!"

"What?" His Wood Elf apprentice asked, and Balo breathed deeply before continuing.

"Greed is a cannibal, I saw him eating an Imperial before, and he also has some kind of secret power that he's going to use in the duels. But I don't know what." He explained, and the Elf looked shocked.

"That's terrible," He groaned, "Though I'm more surprised, Bosmer are known for cannibalism, not Dunmeri." He admitted, shrugging derivatively, before the two noticed Gallows by their sides, and having witnessed it earlier in the day, did not jump five feet back.

"The Redguard is capable, though not threatening, I would not take him lightly, and it is likely you will face him in combat at some point if it isn't immediate, it's likely he'll use an axe and shield in battle, I don't know what make." He explained shortly, nodding once before vanishing again, the few words all Balo needed to get the general idea of Lillur.

"Well, in any event, what about this Red fellow?" The Nord waved off, and Trilli's eyes brightened exponentially.

"Oh he's really neat, actually! He works for the High King as an attendant and professional retriever, but because there currently is none he's returned to his adventurous roots and decided that a tournament would be a great way to waste the weekend!" He explained brightly, and Balo pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Equipment, skills, that sort of thing?" He more asked than stated, wishing the Elf to get on with it before he suffered an aneurism, this wasn't the first time his apprentice had crushed on some stranger.

"Oh god, sorry sir, I got distracted I suppose, he's a bit of a smooth talker," Trilli admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head carelessly, "His short bow is made of a glass base with a Stalhrim frame, and a moonstone wire for the stringing, or so he told me. His melee weapon however is a mameluke sword, it's got a noticeable bend to it, so it won't be the same as fighting a straight sword."

"Any moves, spells, or skills I should be aware of?" Balo continued, and Trilli nodded.

"He does a lot of dodging, rolling about, spinning; fancy footwork as he put it," The Wood Elf explained, before turning at the sound of a trumpet, "The Jarl's here."

Balo's head shot towards the man, and he watched as a carriage pulled by a pair of horses came in after a head of well-dressed guards atop their own creatures, followed by various miscellaneous guard contingents, nobles, thanes and then the common rabble, the entire lot filing in rather thoughtlessly as the contestants –Balo included- quickly made their way to an assembled state, presenting themselves in front of the three large stands and bowing as the Jarl departed his carriage.

A young man, he wore a crown akin to antler horns and a lavish orange, green and gold outfit, various bits of jewellery adorning his neck, arms and fingers. His hair was a dark black, his eyes a sharp blue, and his features strong and young, indeed, Jarl Siddgeir cut an impressive image, and as he took up his position on the roofed platform above the central stand, he observed the contestants with a confident air that this would be a sight to see.

At his side his personal Housecarl Helvard stood, at the other his Stewardess, and in the roped off area directly around the platform his various Thanes and nobles filed in, taking seats and chatting, and Balo couldn't help but notice that Corentin was among them.

He looked down the line, and saw the Dunmer Greed standing tall and staring directly at his Breton master and hummed a tune to himself before realising the majority of people had found some kind of position in and around the stands and that the Jarl had risen to address the crowds and the competitors.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen! To the thirty sixth annual Falkreath Tournament!" He greeted, and uproar and applause came from the people, who all seemed to admire the Jarl despite his disposition, many saying him more an Imperial then Nord and others plotting for his murder or coup.

"Let them commence!" He replied, and a less explosive applause sounded as the majority of the contestants filed out of the main ring and into a waiting area below the stands.

Balo however did not, and it was for good reason as the Stewardess stepped forward, producing a scroll and clearing her throat, the Altmer announcing in a loud voice "Round one; static archery!"

A staple of Falkreath, a game that many played and enjoyed and something that the guards used for practice and the hunters used for warm up, and Balo was somewhat proud to be among the contestants of this fine competition.

It helped that he wasn't first.

In fact the first was some hunter by the name of Germaine that scored terribly, missing one of the four shots entirely and hitting only the black ring at his deepest, scoring a bored seven and effectively eliminating himself from the competition.

It was like this for a while, various archers testing their mettle and most failing, while a few did exceptionally well and a middle ground was formed which generally scored between 17 and 20 points.

After one Edvin, a man willing to bet, had scored rather okay it was Balo's turn, wishing to be as close to the start without actually starting as possible, thus allowing him to keep a calm heart as he saw the scores fluctuate minimally, and produced his most prized possession; a bronze and gold plated short bow of Elven make strung with two twisted ebony wires.

Breathing deeply, the man stood straight, unlike many others in such a competition, bent his legs minimally and kept his shoulders back, holding the bow against the back of his thigh before bringing it up with a firm grip, grabbing an arrow from the quiver at the back of his waist –having kept both this whole time, even while spying on Corentin and Greed- and resting it against his fist before he allowed it near the string.

Breathing deeply as he pulled the wiring taut, he exhaled but never let his form decrease from its stature, keeping the spine ever so slightly curved and the head back in line with the wire, instead of bending it awkwardly like most did.

He waited and listened, making sure that where he pointed the arrow was directly over the yellow circle, at least from his point of view, and taking one last short breath, released the arrow's shaft.

It cut through the air with a light spin, a whistling coming from the bristles at the back of the arrow as it reached the peak of its arch, before its sound slowly got lower and it penetrated the yellow of the target with a sharp thunk, effectively scoring a ten.

The crowd clapped for that one, and he repeated the process thrice, every time getting within the inner yellow, and by the time he was done he had an even forty, the technique apparently flawless.

There was a cheer for that, and he turned towards the Jarl and bowed lowly, extending one leg behind the other and letting his free hand travel to his heart, the other still clutching his bow.

"Good show good sir, good show!" The man replied lightly, clapping his hands artificially and smirking down at the bald individual.

Balo only rose, gave a more reserved, light bow to the other two stands and walked out of the ring, sitting down and running a hand over his features as Trilli rushed to his air, a water skin in hand.

"Nice job sir, that was really well done." He congratulated, and Balo only took the water from him, clearly not in the mood to talk, the Elf understood, it just added to the attractive idiosyncrasies of the Nord.

Several others were next, but only he stood the test of it all, the close second thirty nine points by the druid looking Redguard, whom was not happy.

And so he stood atop a short podium and was well rewarded, gathering five hundred septims from the official pool and another six hundred and two from the betting pool, sending Trilli off to the horses with a little of one thousand septims.

This wasn't the only thing he was to go in, as he wanted the deed to the land that the Jarl had put at stake, wishing to establish himself close to Falkreath and raise a household, perhaps a secondary outpost aside Fort Neugrad that his other apprentice, Kali, now looked after.

But to mix things up, instead of a brutal transition from ranger like tourneys to something akin to soldiers, they had spread each of them within each other, and so next was the jousting that Balo had suspected would happen, and it got in his head that the individual known as Greed was partaking in such a contest.

It was somewhat brutal to watch, men on horseback rushing quickly towards each other with giant polearms before one was eventually toppled by a shattering blow that often times literally shattered their lances. Sometimes the horse went with them, other times it ran off into the woods where a squire like Trilli would run off to find it.

But when the Dark Elf was up, he sat atop a lean, white creature with a lance formed in a helicoid pattern, the tip having formed from two edges twisting around like a corkscrew before they reached a wicked point, which for the non-lethal purposes of this tourney was blunted with a steel cap.

Strangely enough he didn't use a shield, while his opponent sat in full armour, same as his horse. While Greed was similarly attired save his arms and head, his horse was unarmoured, with nought but a riding saddle to hold the skull painted individual.

When the Stewardess announced the competitors, and thereafter allowed them to begin, it was such a speed that Greed's horse galloped that when the opponent was only a quarter down the line that he himself had made it three quarters, and before the man could even respond he was forced well off his horse and into his own squire, crushing the poor boy under the weight of his armour.

'Is that his secret weapon?' Balo wondered, but shook his head, you could tell it was to be a fast creature, just not that fast, and so he scratched his chin in thought as it happened.

The Elf of his thoughts just gave a short bow to the Jarl's booth and trotted off to the side where some servants disarmed him, allowing him down with an applaud behind him.

And so after this several more people attempted a charge, eventually whittling away at each other until only ten remained, Greed among them. Balo hadn't taken part, not having the martial prowess in lancing that the men before him had, his horse one for long travels and mounted archery if nothing else.

The assortment also desired a certain Red hooded Nord, the adventurer that Trilli cheered for formidable and martialed, and well deserving of the crest upon his shield; that of a scimitar crossed behind a vase on a bright red background.

Balo had been offered Thaneship multiple times, but turned it down just as many, wishing a more meaningful way into the Falkreath court than whatever bandit camp or giant's home he raided, his skirmishers supported his claim to such an honour, as did many others, but he stated he would only take it when the difficulty was sufficient and he overcame it with great difficulty, and Trilli had indeed mentioned this tournament as a possible entry ticket.

The Nord had only laughed at that, he wasn't really the material, he had shrugged off, but secretly hoped it was the challenge he was looking for, and it filled his heart with glee at the very thought, especially upon inspecting the competitors, many hardened ex-soldiers or well-known hunters, if this was not the path he needed then he highly doubted one would ever come.

As per the statement they'd mix things up, next was the non-static multiple archery competition, he called it Instamac, because that's what it sounded like when you stated the acronym phonetically. This required archers like himself to destroy four fired, clay disk as they soared over Lake Illinalta and before they hit the water.

A challenge he was taking part in, and something he'd practised for months in three climates.

The Jarl demanded he go first, obviously impressed by his previous performance, and he was glad and worried at the same time, rather hoping a second position to ease his mind.

But he didn't allow that to faze him, and from Trilli received a distinct longbow with arms ever so slightly straighter than say, a hunting bow, made of various dark woods integrated and dovetailed together, and held with an ebony frame and string, his other prized weapon.

This would have to be used quickly however, as the shots were fired at a good speed and he had to compensate for the wind. So, drawing his arrow prematurely, he heard them yell fire and launched the first arrow immediately, shattering the first disc before it had travelled even a yard.

The second came from his waist quiver, and he crouched as he launched this one, giving it some thrust to smash into another halfway at it's peak, this was quickly followed by a third from the quiver at his back, which Balo launched with a deliberate step forward.

It hit with the two remaining discs at their peak, and sent the last one off course ever so slightly. Exhaling strongly, he had already nocked one final arrow but did not release it yet.

Squinting his eyes, he predicted it's path, the wind's westerly blow and the sun passing into his gaze, and fired.

Holding his breath, the Nord got to the water's edge and waited for the gratingly slow arrow to pass over the water, doing so with a much more pronounced spin and sounding like a humming bird as it cut through the sky.

It connected half a metre above the water.

There was an uproar of applause and cheers, and the man fell to his knees thoughtlessly, letting his long held breath out and sighing with a wavering voice, "Bastard." He growled, speaking of the third disc, and rose with mud on his knees.

He turned to the throngs of people, who had assembled at the back of the right most stand, who were all cheering at his display and giving him praise for it. Of course this was before the Redguard, the one in wooden looking armour, stepped forward, pushing Balo out of the way and producing his own bow, still with the same brown and green colour pallete as the rest of his things.

He himself had the same position as before, but with his back straighter, obviously trying to imitate the ranger, who only rolled his eyes and walked off, grabbing the water skin off Trilli once more and throwing some against his neck.

"Difficult, wind brought one against another, wasn't clean." He mumbled as he did so, all the while receiving pats on the back and congratulatory septims as per a more personal bet that he wouldn't be able to hit them all in one go.

Trilli only nodded, writing down the results and the details in that notebook of his, and Balo heard laughter from behind him, and turned to see the Redguard red in the face -redder than usual- as he mislaunched an arrow into the shallows before him.

He cursed loudly, two discs hitting the water in the background as he went on his blasphemous tirade, and Balo found himself ducking behind some people as the man screeched to the heavens.

Lillur was escorted away by a pair of guards, and the competition went on once more, two people actually tying with Balo and so another round set up, this time with five discs. He managed it, Bron didn't, Silvu Silver-Clan did.

Silver-Clan was a typical Nord, with blond hair done up in a practical way, while his blue eyes spoke of some form of hardships, as was the case with the majority of Skyrim, it was the small -this tournament included- that at least gave some joy to the people, and so he ended up tying with the man, neither able to get all six discs.

Therein the prize gold was negligible, two hundred and fifty going towards either party, but at least the money from the betting pool equated for it, and both Balo and Silvu ended up with -give or take- about five hundred septims, and that was good enough for the man, who withdrew from there.

Balo had some respect for the man now, and remembered that just because someone looked regular, it didn't make them so, and fixated on that fact as the next event came.

Horse racing, and Balo was sure that most knew who was going to win.

Greed sat atop his stallion without his armour, having stripped down to a tunic and pants, but keeping his metallic boots as it seemed he didn't have any others, this was against such people as Red and Balo, the latter of which didn't think he'd win.

His horse, Navigator, wasn't one for riding against other horses, he'd only ever been used for flanking and enemy or long journeys, and while he was able to find his way and at least keep up with most other horses, it seemed unlikely that he would win against such a beast as Greed's 'Rabbit', as he had referred to it as.

Red had his own interesting creature, a grey, almost blue creature with a bald face and stockings. It looked hearty, with strong legs and a thing form, but held up the red cloaked fellow with pride, and seemed the tallest of the assembled creatures. Trilli had called it Western Spark.

It would be a race down the path Corentin and Greed had been down, and subsequently Balo, and around the thicket of trees, making it impossible to see the competitors until they rounded a rather long bend. Ovular was the term to use, and Balo only spoke soothing words into Navigator's ear as the Stewardess got atop a podium nearer the horses, though seemed terrified of the creatures with the waver in her voice.

"On your marks!" She called, "Get set!" Balo moved back and gripped the reins, "Race!"

And the twenty or so riders were off, bounding off down the four mile path and sticking close together to begin with, before Spark and Rabbit pulled ahead along with a horse one gambler had made a big deal about; Blue.

He was in sixth, and was fine with that, as long as he wasn't last he was glad to be in the thick of it, and watched as the three lead horses bound forward and away from the group, eventually travelling out of sight.

It was good fun, and he only did it for the pounding of the horses and the exhilaration of the wind, more a high than a competition for men like him, and it seemed that was the case with many of the men around him, the wild smiles on their faces a joy to see for the strange, bald ranger.

He just wished he had hair to allow the wind to fly through.

If Balo had been up ahead, he would of seen it neck and neck with Blue and Rabbit, the two almost running into each other as they attempted to get in the innermost lane. Western Spark was to their right, not bothering with the cumbersome game of intimidating horses and more interested in keeping a steady pace, the pounding of Spark's breath the only thing that mattered to him.

"Just a little further," He mumbled profusely, and he would be right, having reached the halfway point by the yellow flag set up to tell them, and he smiled, charging the reins a tad more to get a step ahead the Elf and Nord to his left.

Greed was glaring at the rider of Blue, who was staring back unphased, even with the skull face paint. The Dunmer scoffed, and brought his horse out, before bringing it close enough to cause the rider of Blue to hesitate, and that was why the blue skinned man got in front, managing to edge the third wheel out.

Blue's rider -a man by the name of Banon- only hissed and whipped his reins, attempting to catch his better on the Elf's right side rather than his previous place, but spotted Red up ahead, and decided that a journey that way would be better founded.

Pushing his horse to it's limits, the man hyahed and raged as he got on Red's heels, whom had noticed him easily and was making sure he stayed ahead.

But this gave Greed the opening he needed, and he kicked his stirrups and sent the horse off to it's top speed, leaving the others in the dust as he allowed a smirk to cross his features.

Red and Banon were shocked at this turn of events, and by the time they arrived around the corner the Elf had already dismounted his horse and been received by the Jarl, collecting a bag of gold from the Stewardess and returning to the sidelines as his tired horse was lead to some well deserved hay.

They came in second and third, respectively, and then the rest of the rabble including Balo filed in soon after, the ranger unsurprised by the turn of events. But he imagined a few people would be disappointed with him, expecting a horse to match the man; he could of cared less.

Next was the rabbit shoot.

This was a high stakes one, as it required a competitor to shoot a young, sprite and hand picked rabbit before anyone else, and so he was aware that if he was not fast enough the creature would be bagged before he had the arrow strung, as you had to start with weapons sheathed.

The ring was walled, the competitors evenly spaced around it's length, a box was placed in the centre and an aficionado in telekinesis placed on the side to open the trap.

Balo stood at the ready, his hands by his side as was the requirement, he spotted both Lillur and Red around it's length, but Greed was absent, having taken a seat on the sidelines. He'd use his short bow, it had a quicker draw, and was less clunky to remove from his back.

In a moment, the stewardess had called a state to begin and the mage opened the box, a rabbit immediately darting out of it and across towards the wall, most people had drawn their bows by then, it bound off one wall and started coming towards Balo, whom along with the majority had now grabbed the shafts of any arrow they could get a hold of.

It bound away from him when he nocked the arrow, and he cursed before pulling back quickly, firing the arrow off before most.

But not all.

His arrow connected with the ground uselessly, and he let his mouth fall open as he saw the red coloured shaft in the rabbit's side, having been propelled to the side and out of the way of his arrow. Following the path, he saw Red looking down the length of his bow, an arrow absent from his string and stock, and a great clapping was heard soon after, the man bowing elegantly before going to retrieve his prize.

"Damn." Balo muttered, working through the mechanics in his head.

Red was always in the corner of his eyes, playing at the back of his head, he focused that part of his mind, and it didn't add up. He'd released his arrow first, it should have been faster, he was using a light and sharpened steel, Red's arrows were just ebony painted red, same as his quiver.

Weird.

But not ever one to judge, the man just walked over to him and let a hand out, "Nice one," He stated politely, "I wish half my men had a draw that fast."

Red chuckled himself, seeming sheepish about the whole thing, before accepting the man's handshake and giving a strong tug, a wordless statement of respect among Nords. After this they both sat down, Trilli congratulating the hooded man and consoling Balo, who just waved it off as fair enough.

It had been about two hours since the tournament had begun, Balo realised, and it was the time when the sun was highest in the sky, thus signalling midday and allowing a break for festivities as food and drink.

Balo returned to his horse for this, passing by winners and losers alike, but mostly losers. The skirmisher had no ill will towards them, but he did spy a few grimaces and harsh faces in his direction, people obviously annoyed with the rather uncanny fellow.

He spoke an Imperial, had the mischief of a Wood Elf, and the cynicism of a Dark Elf. Stating he was a Nord seemed inconcise at this point, and he liked it that way, it meant that he wasn't judged, and so people would talk to him even if a Thalmor or noble, his charisma more forward then most, but still applicable in a given situation.

Of course he wasn't the only one at the horses, many men having grabbed their food and drink, restocked their quivers and sharpened their blades. Navigator had been taken back to this impromptu stable for him, but he was placed elsewhere, and so was a tad difficult to find.

The horse however had the faceless, grey banner on either hip, and a duo of quivers on either side as well, the creature's face was protected by a leather champron he had made in Riften, and his entire form was well kept, Balo made sure of that, and it was one of the reasons he had recruited a smith capable of making such armour.

Grabbing a water skin -as Trilli's had run out-, a wedge of cheese and some hardtack, the man began swaggering back to the tourney grounds, his Bosmer apprentice appearing by his side with his own leg of goat, another projective of the Green Pact the race had made so long ago.

Next was to be the big event, duelling, and so he had to have a full stomach and a steadied mind, as though it was the first to concede defeat, some would end in death, or so was likely.

In this way Balo was actually worried about Greed, the Elf did not look to have boundaries or a code, and so he was afraid of fighting the man considerably. The man might never admit defeat, and the ranger did not want to carry out a fatal blow, not today.

He sat on a log with Trilli and some other Nords, eating away at their foods ravenously, as for some it might be their last meal. When someone conceded defeat you weren't allowed to harm them any more, and he actively warned several men to be careful of such things, most of whom shrugged it off and thanked him for his concern.

Balo sighed at this, having finished his food before turning to watch such men prepare, Greed in his armless, helmetless plate armour and Red in his leathers. He only had a chain mail to protect him, and would need to rely on speed and offensive tactics to better his position against the majority of people, many having leather, Elven or even glass make, in the case of noble competitors.

People were taking precautions, apparently, Balo must have looked mad as he sat down beside an Imperial boy in full mithril armour. Awaiting the bracket to be shown and passed around, and passed around it was, and he was glad to see he would be going up against Lillur, the Redguard likely wanting blood for his failure and beat downs.

He was also surprised to see Red up against Greed, but when he looked over the Nord was only smirking, clearly unphased by the skull faced man sitting drearily by himself, a grimace on his face as his eyes flickered to the page and then to his opponent, before his scowl deepened, stretching the paint across his face into an even more morbid visage.

But first up was a Nord and Imperial, the one he was sitting next to in fact, mithril armour seeming more to graze against each other than clunk, as was its clever and elegant design. The boy's name was Quintus, or so Trilli had stated after consulting his book, having taken down notes of just about everyone of note, and stated he was a noble boy from Bruma, hence the mithril.

The Nord he was fighting was a regular of Falkreath, a man named Urlo the Tower, and that was accentuated by his massive tower shield and elongated long sword, the former holding the sigil of a bull. He was no noble's son, but he fought for one apparently, Balo recognising the symbol as that of Thane Carl Tjur, and was right in his assumption that the man was within the Jarl's roped off area, nodding to his Housecarl thoughtfully, whom bowed back before throwing himself into the ring.

There was a lightly armoured referee, the man bringing the two to the centre, turning both to the Jarl, allowing them to bow before sending them to either end of the ring.

The Tower took off both his sword and his shield, holding the former against his pauldroned shoulder and the shield against the ground, though it still towered above the man. Quintus on the other hand produced a silver short sword and mithril round shield, standing in a slight crouch, as if ready to pounce, with his shield held close but his sword far out.

It actually reminded Balo of a pugilist, but that evaded his mind's eye when the referee shouted for the match to begin.

They both charged at the other, the Tower attempting to ram the man into the ground while the boy sidestepped and attempted to slash at his rear. Urlo however appeared more agile than first thought, and managed to twist around to deflect the blade with his monstrous sheet.

After this he went to run the Imperial through, but the boy nimbly jumped away, before stepping under the retreating blade and against the man, beating him back and causing the Nord to lose his shield.

Without it, he lacked a proper way of defence, and could only hold out against Quintus' aggressive thrusts for oh so long before tripping back and yelling "I yield! I yield!"

The Imperial immediately stepped back, sheathing his weapon and shield and standing straight. Allowing the referee to come over and grab his hand, bringing it up, Urlo just looked beaten and defeated on his knees, off to the side as people cheered for the boy, the Jarl looking at him with hungry eyes[4].

Being sent to the winner's bracket, Balo saw the boy's eyes grace Greed's, and he realised why. If Greed beat Red, then that is whom he would face, and as proven by the Stewardess, the two were up next.

Red looked confident, swinging himself over the railing around the ring and strolling towards the referee before the Stewardess had finished introducing Greed, and gave a long lavish bow to the Jarl that the man seemed to enjoy immensely, before his features dropped at the shortness of the Dunmer's, and only after he had slowly walked to the middle.

The two waited, and a silence fell over the crowds, unlike that of Urlo and Quintus, the crowd was rationalising that this skull faced monster was in fact dangerous and so looked at him with horrid anticipation as he withdrew his giant axe, Red instead gathering his mameluke and standing in an off handed position.

The referee shouted for them to begin, and as the other two they rushed towards each other. Greed began with an aggressive horizontal slash, Red simply ducking under it to attempt a stab early on, but Greed hadn't stopped moving, and allowed his axe to dig into the ground, giving him the power to push off of it's handle and into the man's chest, sending him in a roll.

Even before he had gotten off the ground the Dark Elf was above Red, throwing the axe over his head in an executioner style chop, Red rolling to the right before jumping up to shank his opponent through the throat.

Bending to the side, Greed for all his weight and armour managed to bend his back to avoid the swing, bringing his own axe from Red's left, forcing the man into a sideways block that saw him crash to the ground, but this time rolling to his feet instead of letting the impact stop him.

He used this to his advantage, having worked his way further and further to the railing, and as Greed charged with the axe held low, he jumped back and launched himself off the railing over him, the Elf instead smashing the iron bars into the ground and losing grip of his axe for a moment.

Landing briskly, Red threw both hands to his sword and began thrusting the blade towards Greed.

This would have worked, but in a great show of magic a wave of brown-orange light exploded from the Dunmer's hands and against the Nord sending him and his weapon flying afar.

'_Telekinesis!'_ Balo realised, his mouth agape.

Grabbing the axe with one hand and placing it against his shoulder, Greed approached his victim with a slow gait, allowing the man to gather himself from the ground in a disorientated state. When Greed got close he went to make a diagonal swing upwards, Red barely dodging and pulling free the dagger at the small of his back, hidden under his crimson cloak.

The Elf moved his head back, but the Nord attacked again, desperate to get away from the man, his next attack was blocked by the shaft of Greed's axe, before the end was smacked into his face. Not caring too much, the Nord double backed and smacked overhead twice, the first deflected by the flat of Greed's axe and the second interrupted with a punch to the face.

Stumbling back, Red groaned, "Why!" He began running at the man, his blade held high overhead, "Won't!" He charged, all caution left to the wind, "You!" Greed simply turned around through all this, twisting his axe around and letting it fall behind his shoulder, when his enraged opponent came close enough, he pulled it up against his shoulder.

The hook like form of his axe cut through the diaphragm of Red, up and under his ribcage, and the Dark Elf closed his eyes as he heard and felt the sickening squelch of his opponent's organs being pierced. The crowds gasped and cried out in alarm, and the Balo became transfixed on the two.

Red, his entire momentum gone, just looked blankly at the back of Greed's head, who had it bowed in prayer, and in a last ditch effort brought his knife into the Elf's shoulder, which the dark skinned fellow ignored.

"Die." He stated hollowly, before feeling the axe be removed from his stomach and chest the way it went in, Greed moving away from him in a single step.

Red collapsed backwards to the ground, the crowd in shock and fear as the Dunmer sheathed the bloodied weapon upon his back, before kneeling down next to the Nord and closing his eyes for him, which stared at the sky in emptiness.

Healers rushed to the side of the dead man, the Dunmer rising to just stand there for a moment, seeming to make sure his work was done, and when the medics shooed him away, he abruptly turned and stalked quickly to the sidelines, simply stepping on the bar before finding his way over, towering over people and emanating a wave of anguish.

Balo watched as he stepped towards him, the sun casting Balo in shadow as this heavily armoured Dunmer stood in front of him. The Dark Elf had removed the dagger, and handed it to Balo, who looked up at him in fearful expectation, though he attempted not to look intimidated.

"Don't tell anyone." He stated tonelessly, before making his way back to his seat wordlessly, the entire crowd watching him.

Feeling his heart rate rise, the ranger gulped and stood, "Trilli, come." He ordered, and the Elf did so without objection, clearly afraid of what might happen should they stay.

Walking along the edge of the ring, he let his eyes connect with Greed's, who was on the other side, and bit his lip thoughtlessly. He quickened his pace just a tad, and eventually got into a bit of a jog as he outright abandoned the competition.

He and Trilli untied their horses, and they set them off at a gallop, no matter how tired Navigator was, Balo was not about to get himself killed for spying on a cannibal, and in no time the two were on their way, a two and a half day journey.

The duo rode and walked through the night however, and it took but two to return to Fort Neugrad. The whole way, Trilli was upset, clearly mourning the death of Red, and Balo felt some mild guilt over the situation. The boy got attached too quickly, he was too empathetic.

As they approached, he saw a gathering atop the wall, and by raising only his hand he was allowed in, the gate opened and the men atop the wall having dispersed to get a better view of their leader, the man seeming troubled by his sagging shoulders.

"Sir, why have you returned so early, we would have expected you gone another two days." A captain asked as he dismounted, Navigator being brought over to the stables nearby, Trilli did the same, joining the man at his side and looking concerned.

"Shut the gate; do not let anyone other than rangers in without my approval. Rangers, we're to have a meeting, now." He ordered, and though confused his men followed through; the equivalent of his commanders followed him into the tower, and the he felt somewhat secure sitting within the warm, stone walls of Fort Neugrad, the table he sat at the head of even more so.

There were seven Rangers, six of which commanded his usual Hunters and one of which commanded his Launchers, the nine men that handled his catapults. This man, Darwin, was the one to speak up before the others had a chance, Balo sitting with either apprentice standing beside him, Trilli and his female student; Ellie.

Darwin had the darkest black hair and it slicked back and spiked, as if he had stood in front of some kind of great wind, and commonly wore a pair of golden goggles that hid his eyes behind dark lenses, his wicked smile and overall temperament making him seem a mad scientist if nothing else.

"So, sir, regale us with your tales of bravery on the battlefield! The tourney must have been a riot, would've gone actually, but I was busy developing a new weapon, it's like a crossbow, but bigger-" He began to trail off, before Balo cleared his throat to respond.

"I may be on the hit list of a seemingly powerful Breton and his Dunmer dog, not as a concise description as the race as a whole, mind you." He began to state, the final words tact on as he stared at one such Dark Elf, Captain Martell.

"What did you do?" The Elf asked, chin in hand and elbow on table, his expression one of disenchanted boredom.

"I saw him eating an Imperial, I'm sorry for being such a bad person!" Balo spat, clearly under stress from the thinly veiled threat the Dunmer had given him, the bloodied dagger still in his bag.

An Argonian, Watches-Many-Sunsets, was the next to speak up, his knowledge and philosophy making him the voice of reason in many of these meetings, "Are you sure this Breton does not seek conference, the deaths of men and mer have been used for such messages many times in the past, and a staple of ancient communication exists with such actions."

"I can only hope they haven't followed us, Sunsets, I do not want bloodshed for... This." He trailed off, looking to the young Imperial girl he taught. Ellie was the daughter of an Imperial noble, the man a friend to Balo who had asked him to teach her the hard things in life, as a way to recognise the pain and toil that regular people went through for the sake of her table.

She wore a chain mail robe that ended in a point over one knee, the sleeves cloth and a green heart sewn into the shoulder as a reminder of home, her house sigil such an organ[5]. She had shiny black hair, a sun kissed complexion and a pair of tireless eyes that looked concerned for her relatively new master, and she stood as a constant reminder of the people he was expected to protect, and that irked him to no end.

It was first division Ranger Brog-nak that brought up a subject Balo was hoping to avoid, "Where is Gallows, slippery bastard must have a clue in, he always does."

The Wanderer of the group -the head position above Ranger and Hunter- sighed, "I don't know, I left as soon as I was given-" He rummaged in his knapsack for a moment, before producing the dagger Red had charged into Greed's shoulder, "-This."

The debate was interrupted, a member of the fourth division coming and whispering to his commander, an old Nord named Ganon, "Well, it seems that doesn't matter now," He rose, and flexed his neck and shoulder, "Trackers report a force of thirty two armoured soldiers coming this way, their armour is made of polished plates inlaid with ebony coils, their helmets the shape of a Phoenix, at their head sits an unarmoured Breton and a Dunmer."

Balo rose in rage and alarm, "Ring the bell, have every archer positioned along the walls, have your Trackers based in the trees, I want the bulwark directly behind the gate, have the catapults set upon the small mountains," He ordered, his men and women moving rapidly, Trilli and Ellie remained unmoving, waiting for their Wanderer's command, "You two will accompany me."

Within the hour, the defence of Fort Neugrad had been set up, and for the sake of keeping up appearances Balo appeared sitting on the wall's edge, above the gate, hood and mask up, twiddling down a branch into a sharp point as the eventual sound of horse and man came into earshot.

The first too round the corner was Corentin and his steed, followed closely by Greed, and then an assortment of soldiers on horseback whom all wore armour similar to the Dunmer, but with shoulders or sleeves or gauntlets or without a chest piece or with helmets and any variation of that.

Corentin looked as he did the day Balo had first set eyes on him, and noticed across the rear of the man's bodyguard's horse there sat a red hood and various helms. It made him sick, and he scowled beneath his mask as the Breton approached, flanked by the Dunmer and three other indiscriminate soldiers.

"Balo the Cunning." The obvious noble began, not looking armed nor dangerous, he lacked his hat as before, and this allowed Balo to gaze into his large, pale eyes, reminding him of the Sea of Ghosts, his hair was wispy and a light blond, his nose was soft and his lips thin, held against a shallow but round face with a dull complexion, he looked perpetually upset, though by the decidedly invisible tilt of his eyebrows Balo recognised him to be looking determined, and refused to undermine the man, no matter the words that spilled from his mouth.

Turning the branch in his hand before checking its point, the Nord stated rather offhandedly, flanked by what looked like a thousand bows, and coming off rather enthralled with his work rather than the hard Breton and grimacing Dunmer, among the silvery troops waiting around.

Looking unfazed, Corentin removed himself from his horse with some difficulty, the man's small stature and the beast's size accounting for it. He heard a chuckle beside him, and then an oof as the soldier was silenced, nonverbally told to shut up and show some respect.

Watching the man's bannermen, Balo saw a silver phoenix clutching a bag of gold in one claw and a black and white flag in the other, and written below on a grey ribbon the statement _notre jeu de l'évolution_ sat proudly. He'd never seen this house before, but passed it off correctly as the House of Omnes, the man who stood before him.

"I believe we have had a misunderstanding," Corentin explained, a good time to crack a joke, he didn't however, "I believe you think I want to kill you."

Chuckling softly, Balo let the rough edge of his voice get the tone across, "Don't you?" a challenge, he hoped desperately this would work, simply so he could end the Dunmer who too had dismounted, staying close to his master and saying nothing.

However, the Breton did not take the bait, and instead extended a scroll in one hand, and a bag of gold in the other, "Not at all, I offer much more," He replied, and placed them within the folds of his coat, shutting his eyes as he breathed in the midday air, "I offer you income, in exchange for your combat prowess."

_'Why would it be a trick?' _Balo thought to himself, placing his new pike down and eyeing the man hard, _'A thousand assassins have tried more techniques to kill you, why would this be any different?'_ another half off his mind argued, and the Nord hissed inwardly at both.

"Why should I trust the man who slaughtered my fellow Falkreathmen and harbours a cannibal?" He made a show to nod towards the Dunmer, who didn't respond.

Corentin's faced changed instantly, becoming a flare of contempt before it relaxed to a more placid disposition, "We are not all granted the joy of food outside our kin, Nord, I will not deny my friend's..." He looked to the Dark Elf thoughtfully, who only shrugged, "Condition... But if you will allow me an audience, I can secure you a deed, a Thaneship and the prize money I so wrongfully took from you."

An attractive offer, "Fine, but your men and... That-" He pointed to Greed, "-Will stay out here, I will not have it any other way." He negotiated, and stood, waiting for the Breton's response.

Corentin seemed to grind the back of his teeth in thought, his mouth going slack before abruptly snapping every few seconds in thought. "Okay." He agreed hesitantly, and this time the Elf spoke up.

"Sir, please reconsider your optio-" The Dark Elf began, but was silenced by Corentin turning to him, placing a hand on the skull faced warrior's shoulder.

They shared a moment of silent words, before the Breton shook his bodyguard's shoulder a little in reassurance and began walking towards the gate, Balo signalling for the bulwark to split and the gate to be raised.

And so the Breton disappeared inside Fort Neugrad, and Balo, Trilli and Ellie joined Corentin in his office, the highest placed room in the tower. Within it's ancient bowels, the door guarded by two of his elite infantry and his own back guarded by his two apprentices, Balo cleared his throat and allowed the man a seat, asking Trilli to make some tea and telling Ellie to make a platter, the woman running off to the other side of the room to gather such things as crackers, hardtack and cheese.

He removed hid hood for this, attempting to be civil, and allowed a hand to reach the bald scalp before he began, staring at a dent in the table, "Who are you Mr Omnes."

"Thane, actually. Thane Corentin Omnes of the Solitude court, Minister for Merchantmen, Petty Lord of Lainalten[6]." He introduced, before adding briskly, "Proprietor of Omnes Organic, Omnes Research and Omnes Sympathique, among other miscellaneous groups and titles I care not for and a leader to many more men then the ones outside."

"That sounds like a sideways threat mate," He couldn't help but let the jive out, but recovered quickly, "Then why does a man of your occupation need an army?" Balo questioned, and Corentin stared at his knitted fingers for a moment.

"How would you like the word rebellion?" The man asked thoughtfully, and Balo's jaw tensed.

"I do not fight for the Stormcloaks, nor the Imper-"

"Not those pig headed ingrates," Corentin interrupted, fixing his coat as if the insult had done actual damage, "A revolution on behalf of the working man." he clarified, and Balo couldn't help but snort.

"I rebel within a rebellion? The Imperial Legion will crush you, what do you intend to do, fight the masters of guerilla warfare with your own? Didn't work for the Imperial Rangers, won't work for me." Balo summarised, simultaneously giving reason as to why both the Imperials and the Stormcloaks wouldn't stand for it.

"I don't intend for you to fight for nothing, tactile assaults and holdings against city guards are all I need from a nameless band as yourselves." Corentin stated, and Balo felt an aneurysm from that.

"We are not just a nameless band!" He yelled the last part, beating the table and causing Trilli to jump, whom had just come back over with a boiling kettle.

"In any event," Corentin cleared his throat, a change of pace for Balo in a way, "Your skirmishers are effective at what they do, you would get the best weapons and equipment available, and I'd make sure this dingy city ruin is brought back to life with the refugees of the Empire's shattering façade. Perhaps with you as it's Jarl."

Despite how attractive that sounded, Balo still found himself finding reasons to be disenchanted with the whole idea, "And I'd do all this for what? So you can be king?" He growled, and Corentin hummed a short tune in the back of his throat, the words sounding familiar, as if recited by men and guards over a mug of ale or mead occasionally

Fu... Rer... Dar... That's what Balo heard, and it clicked in his mind, and suddenly realisation flashed across his face as he remembered who that was from, "Dragonborn!" He yelled suddenly, and stood, jumping back.

Corentin cleared his throat, nodding slowly, "Not what you were expecting?" He almost chuckled, a sly smile playing his features as Balo stared at him in shock.

Allowing his heart to settle and the man to finish his laughter, the ranger slowly made his way around the table and in front of the man, before unsheathing his blade and falling to one knee, "For all it is worth, I will give my best for your cause, I only wish that my needs and the needs of my men are met while doing so."

Corentin looked at his bald head solemnly, before nodding, and realising the man didn't see it, rose himself, "I will accept these terms, rise Thane Balo."

"Wanderer... Your grace." Balo cleared his throat for what could have been the hundredth time that week, and sheathed his sword, Trilli and Ellie having fallen in step behind him.

"Of course... Wanderer." Corentin allowed, and followed the man out, out to tell his men of their new allegiance, out to sow the seeds of revolution within the Falkreath court and beyond, out to assault cities and free the people, and out to remove both those of Windhelm and Solitude with conviction.

Out to show the world, just who happens to be who.

…

**Yeah, yeah, it's a really long rewrite. But it's better this way, and most chapters will be this long, for those of you waiting for Across the Pond I shall start working on that once this is posted. This is only chapter one mind you, and frankly it seems a lot just to introduce the main character, but I like him and Balo.**

**Oh, did I forget to mention Corentin is the MC? Whoops, heh heh... Anyway, thanks for reading, I hope you read more, R&R if you wish, I could care less since I rarely ever get any, and uh... Have a nice day.**

**Isaac.**

**Side notes:**

**[1] mods/25113**

**[2] mods/25832**

**[3] mods/31543/**

**[4]-Yes, it is what you think.**

**[5] mods/7184**

**[6]-I'm taking a liberty and a stylistic choice and deciding to employ several of the locations from the Elder Scrolls; Arena, to give Skyrim a more beefy, Canada sized feel, which it should be like. Lainalten is just one of those places.**

**P.S. Twenty one pages ain't bad, come on, you have to admit.**

**P.S.S. Uh, type those adresses into the end of the Skyrim mod nexus, you'll get what I mean.**


	2. Preparations

Chapter Two: Preparations.

_Lainalten, The Reach._

Within the town of Lainalten men often times had a secondary career, even among the court, in its early years the town was naught but a fort and several shacks, children sleeping in the stables and guards on the floor of the great hall.

In fact even Corentin Omnes, the Thane apparent for the city, had worked the fields with the other men and women, the tough soil and lacking resources making it difficult and unrewarding, and so it was by several thousand septims from his own purse that the Breton had gathered a Wood Elf skilled in the magic of such things, agriculture and restoration.

This man went by the Name Alecius, a beautiful Elf with long red hair and a sun kissed complexion, directly from the Valenwood academy of magic. He had brought fertility to the soils, and became revered as the Red Saint amongst the local population, sticking around to attain the rank of Steward and as the local priest.

He took this title in stride, and often wore a maroon chainmail beneath a crimson robe, gloved, braced and booted and looking well worth his position as the town gained wealth under his magical prowess, having personally drawn three magically adept members of the populace and turning them into his disciples, they now stood to challenge Rorikstead in its productive quality, and Corentin had then been forever in his debt.

The Elf only wished to be given housing, enjoying the love and laughter he brought, and often strolled down the streets of Lainalten with thumbs hooked in belt just to hear the confident words of the men and women he'd pulled from the mud, regularly talking with the smallfolk that would have otherwise been below him and only preaching of the God he claimed his powers from; Y'ffre.

Despite this, he was quite the lady's man, chastity never something he was restricted to even as a priest, Y'ffre was the Earth Bones of Nirn, and so everyone was his children, and one needed intercourse to lay those children. He could heat up the female half of the town with just a glance, and had bedded half of them by the sixth year of his Stewardship.

Indeed, as much as he hated to admit it, there were an awful lot of bastard children appearing with wisps of red in their hair and ever so slightly pointed ears, but the fallout of pleasure was well worth it in his opinion.

Or so he reflected in his memoirs as he wrote them down, looking out a window of Lainalten Keep as children played with a pigskin ball, smiling at their happiness and wondering to himself how many were of his own blood.

He could not offer housing for most, he was expecting he'd stay here for a century or so before it fell into disrepair and he was given reason to leave, or so had such things been in the past, hence his knowledge of Stewardship and ability to run the town while his Thane was away.

Gathering support, or so the Red Saint was told, something about Skirmishers in Falkreath Hold, the ruins of the once great Neugrad Watch, and a Nord with an exotic bow. He supported Corentin's move, but felt he was being rather brash with it, though realised that the man had a shorter life than one as himself, it was still extensive enough as a Breton to have all done and finished in due time that wouldn't have cost him allies to age or some such.

Despite this, the man had already extended his hand to Amber Guard and Black Moor, something Alecius had advised against until they could have their own borders secured, such petty lords and pettier sub-thanes demanding better bearings with the area around Lainalten, something he'd managed to subsidise as of recently, subtly drawing attention from one area as to give it to one lord and making a scene of whatever foothills or forests stood nearby, effectively making the holdings of each lord look larger while largely remaining the same.

Petty was indeed the word, if in context.

A servant by the name of Buxin allowed his way in and lightly called to the Elf "You're Earthliness-" Alecius had come up with that, "-I am proud to say our lord has returned."

The Bosmer stood, his chainmail making a faint clinking noise, before he strode over creating much more noise and clapping the young man on the shoulder with a broad smile, when he spoke it was a confident and alert voice that spoke with enough pitch to put most at ease, "Then let us greet him."

He strode past Buxim, a grin supplanting his soft smirk of before, and took advantage of an offshoot that led down some stairs and into the main hall, a grand room that had been built over three years after Lainalten had gotten on its feet, the priest having watched over it all for the entirety of its construction.

A great roaring fire was in braziers at every corner; twenty tables in two groups of ten aligned with the windows on either side and created an artificial path down their centre, before them a long table facing from its side and a throne behind that, the place Corentin made his seat of office.

Alecius had the seat beside it, and stared at it for a moment before making his way past the tables and royal guards and out the door, the two massive machinations built of wrought iron and wood, and requiring a crank to open, which a pair of guards were posted at, at all times.

He waited patiently, allowing his thumbs to enter his belt and giving him the most recognisable pose one could hope for in Lainalten, something else he prided himself on, as dull minded as game as it was.

Before the keep was a naturalistic garden, his own personal concoction having created the silver flowers that lay there in bunches, a pair of trees overlooking their smaller cousins and towering above the short wall that separated the keep from the hall square, just one of four entrances to the largely symmetrical keep, save the lacking of a grand hall on all sides, instead used for such things as the barracks, temple and residential of such people as he and Corentin. His office was adjacent the grand hall for obvious reasons, and so for the care he gave Alecius easily recognised his Thane would use the eastern gate, which the great hall faced.

The man would surely appear in this square, colloquially referred to as the Hall Square, the others adopting the names of their respective wings, so they had Barrack Square, Temple Square and Kingly Square, the last a reference to their much revered lord and Thane and the place he laid his head.

Or so he would have in the past few days had he not been at the mercy of some ranger far off to the east, but Alecius supposed his Dragonborn leader would succeed, he always managed too, no matter the man's passive disposition or the immeasurable odds stacked against him.

And he was proven right, the far corner of the square's many openings emptied of civilians as the man rode in, banners and all, his right held by his common bodyguard Greed but the left belonging to a new horse and man, a hooded and masked fellow with a red jacket and thin chainmail, one over the other.

He supposed this was the mysterious Nord he'd heard so much about, as the two bows and arrows revealed, and when the man dismounted he saw the posture of an archer, proud of his profession and proud of his skill, the man's own company filing in behind the royal guards Alecius had sent off with his Breton.

They were a motley assortment, nothing like the largely uniform lot that separated to one side of the yard, and had all sorts of weapons and armour, some without either for the life of it all. "Jrk'ata Y'ffre fill, my Thane." The Red Saint greeted as Breton approached, the first part Bosmeri for 'The fertility of Y'ffre" and his own personal greeting.

"Jrk'ata Y'ffre fill, Alecius." Corentin replied, the Nord at his side quirking his head but otherwise remaining silent.

Alecius and the man shared a stare off, the Nord's dark eyes intimidating with the shadowed face, but the Red Saint was not just a pretty face, and he held his own for ten seconds before the man nodded and moved forward, bending forward slightly with one of his own hands in his cloak to allow the other extension, holding it out and stating with a gravelly, worn voice "Balo."

Taking it, despite the gesture uncommon, he found it to be reassuring, and replied with a nod of his own and the simple introduction of "Alecius."

When they broke the solid handshake, the man's hand slipped to the pommel of his sword, the man clearly not trusting of the city he now stood in, his entire force of some seventy or so men clearly fitting poorly within the throngs of curious onlookers, and the Red Saint cleared his throat before stating, "We may want to find your men housing, shall the guard barracks do?" He asked, and Balo gave out a short half laugh, though it sounded moreso a cough.

"They've roughed worse conditions, have your own men show them their place and I will gladly convene with you, your holiness, your grace." The man recognised his talisman, apparently, a golden disc with an apple tree carved into it, the second was blatantly granted towards Corentin, and Alecius couldn't help but ask, ignoring the fact he preferred 'your earthliness'.

"You pulled the Dragonborn card; you haven't had to do that with a man since the Lord of Black Moor." Alecius wondered aloud, and Balo looked to the ground sheepishly, Corentin fixing his cuffs.

"And he was kind enough to grant us free housing for the nights we stayed, a true and loyal Nord if ever I saw one, so in similarity to this man, I imagine a choice was negligible," He explained, before placing his hands in his pockets and shivering, "Still haven't gotten used to the cold though, seems that tolerance I worked up died when I travelled south."

Alecius only laughed, turning with thumbs in belt as traditionally as he ever did and expecting the trio behind him to follow, finding it five when two of Balo's own flock joined the group, his apprentices as the Elf would soon learn.

The Red Saint sighed contently as the group travelled into the great hall once more, but stopped to turn as he noticed Balo's own Wood Elf crouching down to annex a flower, the boy's face shot to his own, and the word "Geomancy" escaped his lips.

"Evocation, abjuration, consummation, my steps to customisable plant life." Alecius explained, shrugging his chainmail and robe before continuing on his way, allowing his fellow Bosmer the attention to pick a flower even if it angered him on the inside to an extreme extent.

By the time the two had entered, Corentin had taken place at his throne and his Dunmer took stock beside him, several royal guards had returned to their positions from before their relief and Balo had pulled up a chair in front of the long table, his Imperial apprentice standing beside him and waiting for Trilli.

Alecius jogged over to the end of the table before rounding it, taking his place beside his master in a finely crafted seat of the trees he himself had grown, the plants unlike the silver flowers serving no purpose aside a means to an end, and he couldn't help but remember as he settled into its padded form that much of the city's timber was of the same tree, large but easily felled woods he called Oakfall, for reasons apparent.

"You're men will be outfitted with armour akin to our own, silver and black and bearing the insignia of the Phoenix, to show your allegiance to I and not Jarl Siddgeir," Corentin proposed, before adding momentarily, "Though it will be altered to better suit your means."

Balo looked hesitant, before asking a question that Alecius had forgotten to ask some time ago, "Why a Phoenix, would a Dragon not be more appropriate?" He asked, and though his face was masked the Wood Elf could see he was puzzled.

"Several reasons pertain, one being that it's the symbol of the Imperial Legion and Cyrodiil as a whole, not only would it be rude but it would have us look far to similarly associated with them, something the eastern lords will not walk under. The next being that the Phoenix better represents the rebellion, perhaps one day I will return to my draconic roots but today is a day of revolution, or rebirth, as the Phoenix does every few millennia, a legendary creature as it is." Corentin stated decisively, and Balo nodded once before bringing up a slightly more grounded reply.

"I would prefer to see this armour for myself, and the weapons." He proposed, and Omnes nodded understandingly, rising from his seat and walking to the north overall, the left of him and the right of Balo.

Alecius rose too, foreseeing that eventually he would be called upon, and that though they journeyed to the armoury, the pantheon he represented would likely be seen as blasphemous by the Nord in the eventuality that they did visit his temple.

Corentin lead the way, the Dunmer close by at all points, The Imperial and Wood Elf also stayed close to their master, the man looking studious of the architecture as they passed through a bend of a hallway to reach the barracks.

When inside Alecius was almost amused to find Balo's and Corentin's men getting along so well, the royal guard that acted as Corentin's special contingent seeming right at home with the rather crass lot. He didn't comment, instead watching as the silvery armour and head scarves and hoods were removed and swords and bows were laid to rest before some produced mead and others wine.

Balo seemed to move ahead to converse with his new Breton commander, clearly immersed with the song that began to play from the back of the room, by the way his step wavered with every beat. The two seemed to represent their group's general persona rather well, and the fact they had a good laugh advocated that their men would as well.

The Wood Elf couldn't help but grimace however, as one old man pulled forth a small statuette, the shape of a tribal with a deer head atop it's own scalp clearly a homage to Hircine, Daedric Prince of the Hunt. He had smelt wet dog before, and this was clearly why.

Though the thought of rectifying the mistake of the ancients was clearly embedded elsewhere in his mind, Alecius rationalised that they would serve their purpose, and that perhaps he could cure of them in their ailments at some point.

In any event, he removed himself from the hall behind his group with some urgency, clearly not wanting to share the room with the fellow 'priest'.

They emptied out the front of the barracks, where the training yard and their smithy had set up shop, and found the man working on such a cuiress as the one Corentin had mentioned, a pile of other such pauldons, boots and gauntlets among other things aside one of various axes, swords and spears.

All of them sported ebony inlays atop their silvery forms, the chain mail such a material and the cloth dyed black, the helmets -covering the eyes and nose, though not the jaw unless one added such an addition- indeed looked like the head of a Phoenix, and the shoulders of the armour were reminiscent of burning wings.

Noteworthy was that it was not nearly as armoured or heavy, and as a show of how it was designed a soldier had equipped a set, showing shorter sleeves and a hood, a lacking of armour by the thighs and waist and a construction on the back obviously meant for quivers. The last of the outfit to be adjoined was a seemingly optional mouthpiece, the part carrying up to the bridge of the soldier's nose and giving him a rather intimidating edge.

Balo did not looked impressed, the armour was not clunky, but he felt that it was a bit flashy, and perhaps would hinder his men's ability to cloak with the environment, or so he voiced, "You needn't worry, it comes with a cloak and over suit, fastened with belts to hide the silver." The smith explained from his position, clearly proud of his craftsmanship, though Balo still looked at the weapon thoughtfully.

Snatching a bow and a quiver from the stack produced, he strode over to a position and removed the guard practising there -this one possessing the enclosed helmet, dull grey cloth and chain mail of the regular guard- with a push before loosing three arrows, one going wide while the others barely hit their target, and he sneered, "My fletcher will take over the crafting of bows and arrows, good sirs, I will not have an assumption of my men the basis of their combat equipment." He declared, and Corentin only nodded, giving a sharp glare to his blacksmith who shrunk back.

"I will otherwise wear your armour, but my men will see it downsized and upsized as they wish or I shall return to my home." Balo added, before swaggering back over, clearly holding the trump card in the negotiations.

"Fair enough, see it done Carlos." He told the second part to the Blacksmith, before turning and making his way to the garden path, the red gravel leading all the way around the keep.

Balo had resigned to folding his arms behind his back, following after the Dragonborn with some reservations and seeming to stay on the far side of Greed, having dismissed his own two apprentices shortly before testing the weaponry Carlos had produced.

Alecius followed loyally, knowing his time of intervention was fast approaching, the west wing holding his temple to the shared gods of Nords and Bosmer, whom generally got along theistically. When they did enter, Balo looked dismissive, citing himself an atheist and promptly asking a 'no offence' of the Wood Elf.

Smirking, the red head only stated with a chuckle "It will be a challenge, your conversion."

Balo seemed surprised by this account, his eyebrows rising at the priest's clever retort. He had afforded grief from such people, or so the Bosmer theorised.

The final wing of Lainalten's central keep held residents of the building, and so they did not bother with such places, Corentin only saying he'd allow Balo a room in the building as long as he made noise lightly, terms the man accepted.

Alecius' metrosexual Thane excused himself after that, citing he would like to remind himself of his people, and that stood to the Wood Elf as code for the local brothel, Greed seeming to agree by the look he shared with the Housecarl. Balo decided he'd stroll the streets, get a feel for the city, Greed resigned himself to reading reports as head of the guard, and Alecius himself decided prayer would be a good use of the fading sunlight, taking step into the temple and before the tree that stood as Y'ffre's shrine.

The next day saw the Red Saint rise to a throaty rage that he eventually identified as Balo, taking some time due to not being so familiar with the man, and quickly shrugged on his chainmail and robe before making his way into the great hall to find the Nord disciplining a pair of his men. Behind him a deacon of Y'ffre stood, and he rushed over to see why he'd been so rudely woken.

Upon questioning the 'Wanderer' of the new skirmishers, he found that the two had desecrated three statues in the gardens adjacent to Temple Square, one of Xarxes, God of secret knowledge and ancestry, another of Y'ffre, and the final his own, something Corentin had demanded he do, so that even if he left the men and women of Lainalten would remember his deeds.

Not so much for his own -the mason had been a terrible one- but for those of two of his gods, the man was furious, and asked what was to be done about the boys. Citing he'd first have them clean the gods-forsaken graffiti they had placed on the stonework, he reminded with a smirk that the town's wall extended all the way around the town, and maybe a few laps alongside a pack of rocks would teach the boys something.

Especially if they did it all day.

Taking this on board, Alecius instead turned to his deacon, "Are you alright Josva, they didn't hurt you?" He asked, but the younger man shook his head.

"No, I needn't defend myself so much as cast a light, some people are very easy to convince." He stated, a shrewd smile upon his face. Balo seemed less impressed, walking behind both of his men before smacking them both in the heads.

"Even if he was going to cast magic, it would have been non-hostile you superstitious milk drinkers!" He yelled, before sending them off, an older Orc ranger already there to grab the boys, "My apologies, your earthliness-" So he had learned the phrase "-I assure you it shan't happen again."

"Of course, just make sure you alert Corentin, he'd enjoy telling someone to fix it, specifically our mason," The Wood Elf brushed off, before turning to his deacon and snapping his fingers, "Bring me to the wounded, have we got many?"

"Six guards were harmed defending the town from a giant, four cases of rock joint have broken out, two of the rattles, and one of bone break fever. Oh, and I'm afraid she isn't getting any better." The boy listed off, red robe fluttering as he took off towards the temple via the bowels of the building rather than the walkways to the sides.

"Damn, we'll give her another dose of-" Alecius expert treatment was interrupted as he heard the sound of horses and the great doors being opened, and as he turned he placed his thumbs in his belt, watching as Corentin rode in atop his steed with a spear in one hand and a bow in the other, a small party with him who all stood atop such creatures and his two giant wolfhounds, Meeko and Vigilance.

"A hunting trip, Alecius! A hunting trip for a feast." he declared, having to calm his horse from it's rather rushed canter. He looked happy, that was good, it meant Alecius wouldn't have him looking sorry when he told him about her, but he didn't bother with that, and supposed with much forward thinking

"Am I to suspect you wish for Greed to come along?" He asked, and the man laughed, something he rarely did.

"Of course! I can't go hunting without my faithful housecarl and best friend, it wouldn't be right!" He roared, his party laughing along with him before he jumped off his horse, something that surprised even the Elf.

"Where is he?"

Alecius cleared his throat, before shrugging and stating rather nonchalantly, "I don't know, in fact I just woke up."

The Breton before him looked dismissive, before turning on his heel and whistling a high note, "Samon, take the horses outside, I'll be back," He ordered, before turning to his priest, "I've lost my way Alecius, guide me."

The Wood Elf understood the statement, having spent his time in the southlands of Skyrim it was clear the man had become disoriented with his city, and that would cast the light on the reason the man wore the same clothes beneath his cloak as yesterday, probably stumbling back to his residence via the spire atop it rather than any back handed memory of his.

The Red Saint took his leader's forearm and the pair imparted from the hall with less speed than previous encounters, the narrow halls adjacent clearly not suited for such rushes, but never-the-less guards and servants alike parted for the two, the man that had pulled their town from the mud and the Elf who had put that mud to use, why wouldn't you?

Greed's office was innermost before they entered the stairwell that lead up into the clocktower, and so lacked windows; lit by candlelight, they both saw the Elf filling out forms regarding the guard and royal guard, the walls, keep builders and architects, expansionists, farmers and unionists, basically anything that didn't directly correlate to the Thane Corentin Greed handled, and he did so without a word.

More noticeable besides these notes was the rare occurrence of the Dunmer lacking facepaint, his dark blue features somewhat smooth in comparison to his brothers of Morrowind, a clear sign of both youth and mixed heritage, though of whom the father was Alecius had never asked.

Allowing his deep blue eyes to peer up from the pages, the man motioned to the two seats before him and then to the six ledgers stacked atop each other, a seventh the tome he wrote in and countless others resting throughout the room, among other contraptions that gave the place a cluttered look, though Corentin felt it was more cultured.

"My friend, a hunt is to be had, I must have you by my side, you were always the best at such things as spear throwing, and I need a relatively clean kill to play the centrepiece of my feast, who else would I turn to?" The Breton explained, but Greed looked passive.

"Why a feast?" He asked, dipping his quill in an ink well before continuing his scribbles, Alecius stood by the door as Corentin approached.

"To give the people some joy, the loss of their leader for however long had played bad morale, according to the working class-" That being whores "-And I would love for them to have something to look forward too."

Greed stopped, allowing his eyes to flick up from the page and too the man hollowly, before he sighed and closed them, along with the ledger before placing his elbows atop it and tenting his fingers, "We owe fifty thousand six hundred septims to Lord Consteen of Sungard, three thousand four hundred twenty nine septims to Lord Lud of Bleakwind Bluff, seventy nine thousand septims to Lord Varis of Dead Crone Rock and six hundred and sixty six thousand six hundred and sixty six septims to Lord Maverick of the Eagle's Nest. This is for a grand total of seven hundred and ninety nine thousand, six hundred and ninety five septims." He postulated, recalling each number with perfect clarity.

"You're point?" Corentin retorted, a grimace placed across his features.

Greed opened his eyes to stare at the man for a moment, lips pursing in thought and tent falling ever so slightly, "Point taken, let me grab my spear."

…

_Shearpoint, The Pale._

They felt themselves superior for a reason.

Standing seven feet and with flesh like gold, eyes of warm amber and hair of straw, his ears reached to the ridge of his head, the nose to a point, his lips were large and damp, and his cheekbones rose high on his face.

He wore the finest garment, a beautiful brown coat with golden inlays and silver buttons, Portofino cuffs and an ascot atop a peaked lapel, it reached to his mid-calf and complimented his dark and finely made boots perfectly, with fine white breeches and a silken shirt, he cut an impressive and imposing figure, if nothing else.

Though noteworthy upon his breast was the Imperial pin, something you'd expect of the race if not his own, and the obvious Altmer seemed proud with the dragon crest upon his lapel.

He was a stark contrast to the snowy surroundings, a bright yellow against the ivory snow, and held himself with an air that emanated his position among the soldiers that lingered about, a pair in particular burying a scroll and gold purse under a pile of snow.

"Sir, why're we doin' this?" A Nord merc asked, his guttural voice a sharp contrast to the reply.

He turned to the armoured fellow with a hand resting on the pommel of his moonstone estoc, the other in the safe warmth of his coat pocket, his voice seemed of silk, and slid off his tongue with the grace of a river; "To summon help in a time of need." He summarised, but the man only groaned in frustration.

"That's what ya said last time," He hissed, but the Elf gave a summery laugh in spite of the eternal winter he stood within.

"And that is all you need to know, when it happens, you may have the knowledge for all I care, but for now I'd rather the select few know, myself lucky enough to be among them," The leader replied, shrugging before taking a step towards the hole his men dug, "When the blizzard comes, so to do people disappear."

Upon saying this, the Elf produced a flower, just the one, an elegant blue mountain flower, as some of the more educated members of his party would recognise, and placed it atop the pile, as if a sign, and a sign it was.

…

_Whiterun, Whiterun Hold._

The thriving middle class of Whiterun -merchants, fishermen and estate owners- had given birth to an indefinable amount of noble houses, the ancient noblemen of Battle-Born and Gray-Mane challenged by such new family's as Red-Cliff, Biram, and Frost-Skin.

In fact the latter was an oddity, even among the flourishing economy of the great mountain city, the typicality of these men and women a boredom while their primary source of income was obscure. Quite frankly the two stores, three market stalls and inn they operated around the city didn't measure up, and when looking at their revenue the Jarl's Master of Coin was befuddled with these means, and so they regularly escaped the higher taxing accustom for other houses as theirs.

But tax evasion aside, they in and of themselves seemed different, a family born of farmer's rising to a position as members of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater's court wasn't unheard of, but they seemed secretive and almost paranoid, and had a long-standing rumour of cannibalism and thievery, housing of murderers or as a forward operating base of the Dark Brotherhood, though in conversation they were rather cordial, and did in fact enjoy all the joys of Nordic culture, just privately.

Besides this even, just the fact they had a strange obsession with the colour light blue and the mountain flower of such colour seemed strange to most, their pots and vases holding the well kept plants, and if one looked closely enough they would notice that some looked different, higher quality or with longer petals, as if they had been gathered from several different bushes instead of the one.

They had their own manor, with a courtyard in it's centre, and their servants were some of the few that were allowed a view their inner family structure and often watched the young men of the family train and duel in the courtyard, protected on all sides by walls and buildings.

In this particular instance, with the sun overhead and the clouds non-existent, one would find a pair of Frost-Skins duelling it out with the thin swords used in such events, both laughing and mocking each other playfully as the day went on, a pair of servant girls watching from one portico while a pair of older men watched from another, the latter speaking business while the former seemed enamoured with the handsome figures.

Both sported the blond hair and blue eyes common of Nords, the youthful faces and firm muscles of their shirtless bodies glistening with sweat as they duked it out, each trying to gain dominance only to be rebuked cleverly by their opponent.

Off to the side however, the two old men -one looking mildly older than the two boys while the other was an aged and grizzled being- stared at one in particular, "Ellan is growing." The older of the two stated, scratching his beard thoughtfully.

The other sighed, "Growing indeed, he'll be leaving tomorrow." He seemed reluctant to talk about it, but the older of the two took charge.

"Son, he must learn to control his magic, Drevis is the only one who can teach him that, lest he become unstable, or worse; he never learns the Snow-Wraith spell at all." He growled, stamping his cane to alert the fellow Nord and bring him out of his melancholy stupor.

"But he's just a boy-" The richly adorned man began, but was refuted by his senior.

"So were you! And so was I, but it's completely necessary, this has to be done Eberg." The old man placed a hand on the younger -but still mature- man's shoulder, giving it a light shake before turning towards the boy, seeing him sweat hard as he deflected a mighty blow from his house member.

"He's probably forgotten," Eberg noted, shrugging sombrely, "I told him a year ago."

The old man only snorted, and produced a slip of paper in his free hand, "Eddard brought this to me today." He stated, handing the card to his son.

"Another contract? They're getting a little too common in my opinion." The man noted, and unfolded it with little hesitation.

Scanning over it, he was amazed by its contents, the name far too familiar, the city one talked about quite a bit by the town crier, "So, who will disappear this time?"

Eberg gulped, and slowly lowered the note, "It's a man in Lainalten."

"Lovely little city, bring me back some of their wine if you happen upon it," His father began, before clearing his throat, "And... The target?"

"A Thane… Thane Corentin…" He mumbled, and the eldest of the two was astounded.

"Really? Who would want the Dragonborn dead?" The old man thought aloud, not expecting his son to answer, "Never the less, Alduin has been vanquished, his use has waned, and we were paid double what our combined profit of the year usually is."

"What? How is that possible, surely it would have been in a small bag, small enough for us to notice but not to draw attention?" Eberg quipped, and his father chuckled darkly.

"Flawless diamonds, sixty of them, each of them worth six hundred thousand septims, according to Fralia Gray-Mane." He explained, and the head of the household nodded in response.

"Well, we must uphold the myth; even kings can fall to the snow, even Thanes, and even those born of Dragon blood," He cited thoughtfully, before clearing his throat, "I will leave in three days, I would see my son off before I myself go, and dad," Eberg waited until he had the old man's attention, "Keep this between us."

_Greater Lainalten Area, The Reach._

_…_

Dunmeri weaponry was vastly varied among the great houses, and the smaller houses therein, but one thing that stayed constant at least with Greed's getup was spirals. His spear, for example, was a long handled and highly adorned weapon with an actual blade about a fourth the length of the shaft, and was styled with two edges spirally downwards in a receding mass until they ended together in an irregular point, similar to his lance actually.

This made piercing a much easier instrument, both of armour and hide, and was hard to remove due to the edges catching the inside of its target, and would only cause more pain should someone attempt to pull it out from the way it came in, as it was better to allow it to penetrate the entire way through.

This is what he noted as he crouched within the bushes, spying a boar while the rest of the hunting party waited a ways away as he demonstrated his ability, the fact he had been born under the shadow also helping with his natural stealth.

He came to a halt, exhaling somewhat to give him relief from where he had held it while moving towards the tusked pig. He had the spear near his shoulder, the weapon peeking out of the bushes he stood in just enough to be seen, though the boar only regarded it with minor fascination and continued chewing on the grass before it.

Pulling his arm back, Greed launched the weapon, the creature's close proximity assuring it was caught in the eye and making sure it didn't run away as the edge's plunged into its eye socket; attempting to pull off the weapon instead made it rock back and forth, eventually allowing the blade to pierce his bran and cause it to spasm, before slumping sideways as it's higher functions finally let out.

Hearing the clapping and words behind him, mostly of his skill, he rose and stepped forward, bending the spear vertical until it slipped out with a sickening pop, a trick he had learned in the midst of a charge so long ago.

Corentin came up beside the taller man, and placed a hand on his shoulder, looking down at the creature and stating with much satisfaction, "There's our centrepiece."

And he would say that to Lord Varis, holding a cup of wine in one hand a motioning to the now basted and roasted pig, sitting in the middle of the great table that now took up the great hall, a casual smile on his face as the older man gave him an impressed look.

"And you say your Housecarl bagged this particular creature?" He asked, and Corentin nodded earnestly in reply, "What a hunter! Right through the eye too."

The night was too be a long and extravagant one, the city of Lainalten holding its own little festival within the squares around the keep, a great joy and calm coating the city while their Thane impressed lords with his various devices –as food and the great boar- only to convince them of his means and of his cause, in effect gathering many foot soldiers to take the Reach in the coming weeks, though he would keep that to himself for now.

Greed was in charge of security, the royal and city guard taxed to keep order due to the common Nord and his usual means, and though it was good fun they still had to keep their heads about them, as a proud city full of varying cultures and races –though still predominantly Nord- had a way of sparking a fuse, for better or for worse.

In that same vein Alecius had already had three injuries to deal with, having set his three apprentices and several guards to the temple to make sure people didn't end up with any permanent damage, but excused himself at Corentin's wish to intermingle with the Elven dignitaries that had made themselves known, though somewhat a racist assumption it did help that the religious leader of the city was of Mer descent, and laid the foundation for an alliance with a Bosmer merchant here and a Dunmer noble there, among other things.

Balo turned out to be a few strands looser with a belly full of mead, and had lightened the mood where it was usually full of tenseness with his harming sarcasm and cynicism, Nords always the type to laugh at themselves.

In this one particular instance Balo was chatting up a woman whom probably rarely had the luxury, and this was because of the giant Nord that pushed Balo away, getting inbetwee the woman and the ranger, "What are you doing talking to my girl?" He growled, and the bald man before him only laughed, having adopted more appropriate clothes for the evening.

"Isn't it obvious? I was hoping to get into her pants," He stated half drunk, wobbling on his feet and patting the young man's shoulder, "I'm sure I'd have had more success than you, considering the uptight strain I see in your neck, of cause there are other ways of relief, and I'm sure you've used those means to their full extent, probably why I had the window of opportunity to chat with your lady."

The man growled, and went to punch the lighter built man, but was only slapped before he had the chance, "Not at a party mate." He scolded, before walking past the stunned noble and too his woman, "M'lady, care to dance?" The slight rasp was oddly attractive, and despite the comment she had heard him make the girl nodded with a warm smile and took his hand, following him to the floor where the others began to as well.

This was in similar fashion –minus the spoilt noble boy- to Corentin, who had the good Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone in a light dance that accompanied the music being played a level up on the balcony directly above the throne.

There was a large space between the tables nearer the door and the main table, and this is where the ten or so couples decided to dance, others chatting among their own tables to substitute, lest the floor become too crowded.

"My Jarl, I must say that it is truly a pleasure to have you here." Corentin stated with a devilish smile, one to cut through people, though the older lady seemed to be having none of it.

"You are aware of my visions I suspect, Dragonborn?" She asked, but it came out more of a statement, never-the-less Omnes nodded, "I've had some more recently, one of being able to see a smoking Solitude from afar, with black smoke rising to mingle with more from Windhelm, and I do realise who has evoked this choking black fog."

"Oh really?" Corentin asked as he gave the old woman a light twirl, being careful not to hurt the woman with her imposing Housecarl just to the side, "And tell me, what of Morthal?"

"I run, having the legs of a young woman, you see, and whenever I find myself there I can't tell," She admitted, and shrugged, "I imagine it supposes who's side I take, and that's not a matter of Stormcloak or Imperial, as I'm sure you're already aware."

Corentin chuckled, taking a step back and releasing a hand before stepping back in, bringing the old woman close enough to whisper in her ear, "I must wonder, will a gaseous swamp burn faster? Or slower?"

Idgrod barely stopped herself from spitting on the man, "You don't scare me, Omnes, but the safety of my people comes first, and I know that's with you."

Corentin let her dip back, holding her up and finding her ability to dance surprising, but not at all discouraged he gave another light laugh and stated with much forethought while the music slowly faded, "Good choice."

…

_South-East Dawnstar_

For once, Ellan did not enjoy the snow.

Being born to a Nordic family with a fetish for the snow didn't help him in this case, as he felt the rickety cart barely pull through the snow caked road, the ancient bricks already uneven without the two feet high layer of white covering the landscape.

He had left Whiterun about a half day ago, and they had only just crossed over into Dawnstar territory, but even before then the snow had really begun to pack in, the winters of Skyrim hard on even the south and central Skyrim, and he hissed at the implications.

A new semester of the College of Winterhold had to be in winter, didn't it?

It would be a three day journey, probably four considering the vast indifference Winterhold seemed to give to its inhabitants, sometimes coming up to a metre in height in some areas, though the once mighty city would probably shovel that out he presumed.

He was equipped with a pair of daggers, dressed in a tailored robe that held enchantments and had his entire bedroom packed into four travel chests, which were secured around him, but this did nothing to quell the feeling that he was either forgetting something, or that something bad was about to happen.

Whether it related to him or not however, was a mystery.

At least he had company, the driver was rather chatty and so was his bodyguard, a necessity on these harsh roads. In fact it occurred to Ellan as they promptly dealt with a pair of wolves and a troll –they being the guard and driver- that the grip on the common folk and indeed the country had slipped as of recently, and found himself questioning both sides when all comments and conversations were exhausted and even supposing the choices made by Jarl Balgruuf to remain neutral in this conflict.

Of course he'd found it silly when word of Dragons had gotten out and been confirmed, the whole idea that men were fighting over silly things as kingship and religion astoundingly obscured by the fire and wing of a great lizard roaming the countryside, burning villages and towns and destroying lives and people in moments, as had happened with such places as Pargran Village and Helgen.

Well, he hadn't thought of all that when they were being assaulted by a troll, but it had jogged his mind into areas of politics, and found it immensely interesting despite his predisposition to it all. He would grow to be the next head of the Frost-Skins, and as a result of being a noble house he would be elevated to the court of Dragonsreach, probably under the Jarl's eldest son; Frothar, as they were around a similar age and he suspected his father and the jarl were as well.

It was not that he was into such petty squabbles, but as with anything above you it was attractive, he had to admit, and promptly made up a thousand different scenarios to pass the time in the waning hours of the first day on the road.

Well prepared and well witted with the road most travelled, the driver had found a place to camp for the night shortly when he announced they would, something that had taken Ellan's own father a long time to do when they last went camping, he reminisced, smiling at the thought and sitting with a smile on his face, even despite the current circumstances.

The time was passed with a seven bottles of mead, goat's cheese and hard tack, a journeyman's dinner, and laughter of raucous tales that Ellan found himself slipping into quite comfortably, and realised thereafter as the three parted to their tents that he was much more suited for civilian life. He played with children, had friends in the peasants and even crushed on one Redguard girl around his age[1].

If he became a noble all of this would be snatched from him, and while he was somewhat fine with that later in life, he would not want such a thing to be taken from him now, as servants and house guards would turn away his friends and he doubted he'd ever have the chance to play tag again, among other things, and sighed with melancholy as he drifted off to sleep, ending the rather interesting day on a sour note.

…

_Solitude, Haafingar._

Across the country and with much sprite despite the end of daylight, an Elf familiar with the Solitude court bound up to the main landing and to where the majority of the court resided, many Thanes, lords, merchantmen, officials, dignitaries and all other sort crowded within the room, constantly whispering even as the Town Crier and Voice of the Jarl stepped forward to announce his presence, the way he bee lined for the centre of the room clearly imposing his desire.

"Solitude Court, presenting Thane Regoir'ya Moriarty the Second, Royal Spymaster and Minister for Trade." He announced, and a wave of whispers erupted from the crowds, a High Elf as Thane among other things clearly cause for controversy.

He just waited for them to die down to their usual volume before announcing with much earnestness "My Jarl, I bring news I had hoped would evade you, purely for your emotional sake I assure you."

Jarl Elisif was a proud woman, but even then she just straightened in her throne and called for him to carry on, "There is reason to believe that Thane Corentin Omnes, Minister for Merchantmen, Lord of Lainalten, is a traitor, and may be amassing troops from across Skyrim to his cause, and from therein it reveals itself to me that several other lords have possibly thrown in their hat with him."

Noticeably, however, was that instead of any amount of Nords stepping forward –though some of them tried too, simply being too slow- it was a Redguard who challenged the Elf, dignitary M'kai stepping forward to test the man, "And what is his cause, might I ask?" He asked in his lustrous voice, a deep and throbbing tone that caused many a lady to fall for him.

"I have yet to uncover that, but I-" Regoir'ya began.

"Then there is no case!" M'kai interrupted, throwing his hands up in frustration, obviously fuming about a previous altercation with the Jarl Regoir'ya was aware of.

Ignoring him however, the Elf clarified, "The explanation for this accusation lies in the fact that not only has there been extensive troop movement to and from Lainalten but from this troop movement we have seen lords and ladies of various cities and towns of Skyrim surrounding the area it sits in remove their soldiers from the front lines or whatever assignment and bring them back to stronghold in their own cities and often times Lainalten itself!" The volume of his voice had gradually grown with the words, and M'kai had found himself stepping back at the rising anger of the Altmer.

"I can support this claim actually." Another stated, a man in full plate and a surcoat stepping forward, Regoir'ya recognised him as Thane Hain Cage-Fist, Minister for War and acting commander of the Nordic portion of the military, those not directly affiliated with the Imperial Legion, and had garnered much respect from the people of Skyrim, though had been branded a traitor by the likes of Ulfric and his pack.

His great helm was under his arm, the hand of his other arm on the pommel of his sword, and the beard and eyes he had completely set him apart from the rest of the court as someone who actually intended on doing something, a true and honourable Nord, unlike the likes of Thane Erikur or that bloody Breton dignitary.

"As shown by my acting commanders and Imperial Legion delegates the various parties acting to defend Skyrim have been rapidly deteriorating and 'going home', for all intents and purposes, and a surge of docile but noticeable activity has been detected in the Reach area, or so my scouts report." He explained, and a lady of the court asked stupidly,

"You have scouts in our own territory?"

Ignoring the glorified broad, Cage-Fist stepped into the spotlight beside Regoir'ya and turned towards the Jarl with much a rattling of his armour, "We should at the very least send a party to incite a stronger alliance, perhaps remind Corentin of his vows." The Nord coaxed, and this left Elisif biting her lip.

"Thane Omnes is a friend of mine, it just doesn't seem like him to do something like this…" she half mumbled half announced, before fixing her brow and stating with resolve, "Send a party of sixty men to Lainalten, test him if you must, but I will see no bloodshed on a possibility." She ordered, and it was Falk Fire-Beard –her steward- who the statement was directed at.

"Aye, m'lady, I'll have a servant alert th-"

"There will be no need for that, Falk," Hain interrupted, eyeing him for but a moment before he allowed it to flicker to his Jarl, "I will go myself, with my own men, on behalf of you, my Jarl."

"Fair enough," She allowed, and he set off with a slow pace, Regoir'ya ecstatic that the work had been done for him.

Or so went politics, anyway.

…

_Amol, Winterhold._

Esse unum cum nix, to be one with the snow, Ellan's house motto, or something like that.

This seemed rather appropriate, all things considered, the blistering whiteness clinging to his cloak and clothes and everything else, guard, horse, driver, cart.

They were in the part between Winterhold and Dawnstar, where the trees only just began to thin out and the snow really caked on, the horse almost digging it's way forward rather than the usual trot he had become accustomed to.

He did have means to distract himself however, spying atop a mountain through the trees, there stood a massive statue, bigger than any he had seen before, Talos or Ysgramor, and when he asked he was much surprised to hear it was the visage of Azura, Daedric Prince of Dawn and Dusk, oe of the more benevolent but still Dadric none-the-less, and as Windhelm was relatively close by he couldn't help but question why it hadn't been torn down.

More so because at the base of the mountain, between Winterhold and Windhelm geographically, sat the town of Amol, a rather repulsive piece of civilisation with a minor population of six hundred, halved and wasted since many of the men and boys went to war, leaving the old and young and female without their protectors, aside a forty strong guard and two mages loaned by the College.

It seemed to have a larger Dunmer population than one would expect, and Ellan owed that to the tragedies of Morrowind and the cursed people, apparently Windhelm was full, this once again relayed to him by the cart guard.

They would stop for the night, the inn doting over the three because they rarely had customers, and so got some kind of special treatment, one could suppose. To say he was upset with this was just a lie, however, as the local girls didn't exactly have someone to crush on and he was still holding his strict regime of training, he spent some time duelling with an off duty guard and definitely enjoyed the attention he was getting for it.

This was all covered in rather dull cloud cover, however, without grass and with plenty of mud, so he had a light spattering of brown through his hair and on his skin by the end of two hour training session, but that gave him a rugged look, or so the cart guard had jived as he trudged into the inn.

Three girls offered to help wash him, Ellan may have been noble born, but he wasn't stupid, and gladly accepted their 'help', spending the rest of the night doing that.

Sometimes bad things gave birth to good, and war was no exception, at least in this case.

…

_Lainalten, The Reach._

The grand feast that Corentin had thrown was quite exceptional indeed, the fallout of the following day a testament to that. The guards and men who had to work in the early hours had little sleep and a resounding hangover that was unlikely to go away until the next day, the property damage in the single night had outdone the last two months and there was a grand thirty eight citizens placed under arrest, and a tragedy of two deaths which only turned Corentin's smile down a little.

He sat upon his throne, feet resting on the low table set in front of him; he had been listening to the aforementioned report listed from Greed and drinking a brew Alecius had taken the time to create, a cure for the immeasurable hangover he himself had suffered, and promptly shared it with the rest of the court, though most still had a throbbing headache in the back of their heads.

However as a Breton noble and a master merchant Thane Omnes had grown accustomed to stronger drinks, and as mead was essentially honeyed wine he saw no resounding effects from the riotous alcohol consumed last night. Hell even Alecius was doing worse than him, holding his head as he rested it on the table, Corentin absently prodding his head with the tip of his shoe every now and then.

Greed didn't drink, for obvious reasons, and looked quite agitated that his entire contingent was hammered and broke, and snapped at anyone who dared ask him something outside his job's parameters.

Balo was still asleep on one of the back tables, the servants cleaning the place having dropped him there so they could clean the floors, and once his Housecarl was done talking Corentin replaced his feet to the floor and threw himself over the desk, swaggering over to the Nord and pouring the remainder of his brew on the man.

As expected, the ranger jolted up before clutching his head with a groan, the head pain like being balled over by a werewolf, and Balo should have known; he had fought the beasts on more than one occasion.

A servant, as per Corentin's hand gesture, rushed over with a jug and goblet, insisting on shoving the drink into the ranger's hands before taking a step back. Drinking the concoction, Corentin observed as the scrunch of the man's brow slowly receded with each gulp, before he didn't look quite so upset any more.

"I heard Breton's were good with parties," He stated simply, before standing tall, realising only then that he was atop a table, "I could do with some air."

"Not quite yet, Balo," Corentin stopped, grabbing the man's pant leg and stopping him from jumping to another table, "I need you and my other commanders for a meeting. You shan't be going anywhere until that is through."

"War…" Balo grumbled in response, slipping down from the table and in front of Corentin, he absently saw Greed eyeing him suspiciously, and suspected the man didn't truly trust him yet, that was fine with him.

"Well I'm sure as hell getting some breakfast, I'm bloody starving mate," He noted, and called to another servant shortly after, "Bring me two sausages, a mug of coffee and a steak, burnt black."

Corentin harrumphed, and Alecius seemed unimpressed, by the blank look he gave the man. Greed didn't even acknowledge the man despite his somewhat arresting presence.

"In any event," Corentin mumbled, before raising his voice for yet another servant, "Gather the commanders; you should know where they rest."

It was a short time later, after Balo and eventually Alecius and Corentin had settled down for breakfast that the first of the lords apparently associated with the latter's underground rebellion joined them, sneaking in quietly with a bag of ice against their forehead a man by the name of Jori Guinness.

He had apparently been appointed Thane of Amber Guard by the Jarl of the Reach and had a mercantile empire at his disposal due to the close proximity to the High Rock Border and subsequently the massive import-export net of septim-changing-hands political ladder that the country revolved around.

This meant aside the rather large contingent of soldiers he held with his grip he also had the ability to hire hundreds of mercenaries at a time, and had a second army ready to mobilise across the border at any point, or so Balo had learned the night before.

Aside this, he was a particularly young fellow, and Corentin owed this to his father's untimely death, leaving it all in the hands of his only child, who proved to be very adept at running a city and it's thriving market space.

Next to come in was another Nord, but this one owed back to the usual perception of them; he had a long white beard and unkempt hair that flowed freely down the back of steel armour, whorls and swirls laid within it and skulls of fallen enemies aside that of a massive troll set against his shoulder, an imposing battle-axe of the ebony variety tying it up fearsomely.

This was Saul Rope-Back, Lord of Black Moor. He sat at the table furthest from Balo, near the back of the room and closest the door, having his own breakfast of roasted venison and tomatoes while the others at least attempted to socialise near the front of the room, not seeming talkative in the least.

After this a variety of people in various states of hangoverness stumbled, walked or ran in, the least interesting being a blonde Nord that Balo had slapped last night, the most Jarl Idgrod whom he tried to avoid purely because he was intimidated by the old bat.

When it was all well and done, and everyone had streamed in, Corentin took his place at the front of the room atop his throne and began with a cleared throat, flanked by Greed, Alecius and a throng of other people that Corentin had intended to become familiar with.

"Good morning, are we all feeling better?" He asked, looking to the servant that had been serving Alecius antidote.

There was a resounding groaning and moaning of half-hearted agreement and Balo as a newbie to politics couldn't help but chuckle internally at the distinct school boy feeling he had sitting before this one condescending Breton with several other unenthusiastic people.

"Excellent," though the look on the Dragonborn's face indulged him less than this assessment, "Now we must have business put forth, lest it get drowned in more mead like that of last night," Browsing the unamused faces, he motioned for Alecius to stand, "Steward Alecius will go over any new changes to the operation before you bring forth any issues, please, you have the right to voice your opinion on such matters that he brings up, but please allow him to finish talking before you do."

There was a small row of displeasure, before the Elf stood and cleared his own throat, producing one of the many scrolls stacked beside him and beginning to read the contents, "First order of business, a new commander has been ascertained, Balo the Cunning of Fort Neugrad," He motioned to the gentleman, who rose and allowed the eyes to draw to him, feeling oddly like a new student, "He has brought together seventy skirmisher type infantry and a trio of catapults, the former will be attached as its own unit, the latter will be attached to Lord Duron of Northwatch's own artillery unit."

'Lord Duron' rose without much thought, an older man with a shapely beard and close cropped hair, and Balo nodded to him, remembering somewhat that he didn't look particularly well dressed for the meeting, having drunken himself unconscious.

This would only be the first of many long and prolonged discussions, objections and debates about troop movement, perks and payments, and political dogma that Balo soon grew bored with, but he sat through it all anyway, knowing that it would be necessary to be within the fold of rebellion, and only sighed at each petty shouting match that broke out with every second announcement.

Like school children indeed.

…

**[1]- If you can figure out who that is, then it'd give you a good idea of how long after the main game this is.**


End file.
